


A Heavy Cross To Carry Along

by lisachan



Series: Chronicles of the Academy [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: Following the betrayal of his most trusted and close people, Celes lies alone in his bed and thinks back of something he shouldn't think about.





	A Heavy Cross To Carry Along

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. Me again, writing about my bbs in the COWTverse. Celes my bb my love my darling. It's gonna be alright. *hugs him*

Celes lies alone in the bed for the first time in months, and loneliness has never felt more real than right now. He's spent months secluded in his bedroom during Retreat, preparing for his first War of the Lands, and he didn't feel half as lonely as he does now.

He shouldn't regret this. He shouldn't overthink this. He's right. Deep down in his own heart, in his very soul, at the bottom of himself, at his core, he knows he's right. He knows the voice isn't lying, that there's a Seer somewhere and she's being held captive, he knows she's got something to tell him and he knows it's of capital importance for the well-being of all the Lands. He _knows_ that, and he doesn't care if he sounds irrational defending his point – maybe he really is, and perhaps he's supposed to be. Rationality is for calculated solutions. This here is faith. A belief. Something that cannot be shaken. 

But this is so tiring. It's so tiring to fight for what he knows to be true, because most of the time no one can see it. It's like how it was when he was still a girl – he kept saying I'm a boy, call me Celes, and everyone, for a while, thought it was a phase, that he was just confused, that he just needed to find himself. Even his own mother was still calling him Celestia while saying goodbye when he left for Titania's Academy.

He doesn't have that energy, not anymore. This is draining him. He doesn't sleep, barely eats, scarcely drinks, he hasn't been hugged by his lovers for days and for the first time in his life the love of his mother is not enough to comfort him.

He needs _them_. He needs Shannen and Langley because for the last five years of his life _they_ have been his support system, they have been the ones he could always rely upon. Not for a lack of love on his mother's part, of course, nor on the rest of this family's, for that matter, but simply because the strength they could give him was of a different kind, a different quality.

His mother's love is a given. Something he was born with. Something that gave birth to him, even.

Their love is the love he's chosen. And the love that has chosen him.

He keeps his eyes closed, fighting the urge to cry, hating himself for it, and suddenly he's transported somewhere else. Somewhere in the past. He's used to this kind of visions – he settles into it, letting it unfurl in front of his own eyes.

Langley and him are sitting on the floor in a room – it's Langley's room in the dorm at the Academy, he can tell because it's messy, Langley's colorful and loose blouses are hanging over every single piece of furniture decorating the fairly big space and they're drinking like they never did since Langley's last year there.

And this must be it. Langley's last year there.

“We need to celebrate, my precious,” Langley says, voice dripping with alcohol, “To our new life.”

Yes. It's Langley's last year. Last week. Last day before the final exam.

“What you should be doing is sleeping,” Shannen distractedly says, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, his whole attitude the one of a person forced to witness something he decisively does not like, “Or you'll fail your exam tomorrow.”

“I didn't think you might be so concerned about the success of my academic life, my love,” Langley says with a smirk.

“In fact I don't give a shit about it,” Shannen replies dryly, “I just know that if you fail your exam you'll be here for one more year and the thought makes me wanna vomit.”

“Gosh, you've never been this eloquent,” Langley says, “You must be really sad to see me going.”

Shannen throws him a shoe. Langley laughs. Celes laughs too. He's drunk and he's still mid-transition: if his voice, still a little too high, wasn't enough to tell, the slight curve still softening up his chest would be final proof for it.

“I'll be sad to see you going,” he says, crawling towards Langley on all fours, asking for another sip of wine. He can't hold wine for his life. He's good with beer and he knows how to handle liquors to drink enough to get tipsy at worst, but wine is a different thing, he can't control it. He always ends up making a spectacle of himself. Shannen says it's because he's a child.

“Aw, but love, you'll see me again,” Langley answers, “I'm gonna come see you every time I can, don't worry. It'll be like I never left.” And in doing so he offers the wine bottle to him, but Celes is too drunk not to act like a clown, and so he opens his mouth and expects Langley to just pour it in there, and Langley does, laughing, and Celes laughs too, and of course he ends up completely drenched in wine in a matter of seconds, while the rest of the sip ends up on the floor, and the whole thing suddenly seems so hilarious he can't do anything but keep laughing, bending over, almost rolling himself in the watered down red puddle on the floor.

“For fuck's sake...” Shannen hisses, now definitely annoyed at them. He doesn't like people, he doesn't like drunk people and he doesn't like drunk people being silly, so his reaction is completely predictable and makes a lot of sense, but still, when he announces he's gonna leave, Celes and Langley can do nothing but try and grab him by his pants and t-shirt, trying to get him to stay, whining like newborns. “Oh for all the Gods, get off me!” he yells, literally kicking them away, before leaving the room.

They end up laughing again. They know Shannen's rage – rage is basically the only emotion Shannen uses to deal with people, together with sporadic episodes of sexual arousal, and so they know how to translate the various different shades of his anger into common language. This shade simply says that he can't bear to have them around for now, and that he needs some time on his own. Celes knows he's sad to see Langley go too, so he understands him twice as much. Celes needs to deal with pain between the arms of a loved one – Shannen's the opposite. He very rarely needs the arms of a loved one – and certainly not when he's in pain.

“Don't mind the party pooper, love,” Langley says, gathering him in his arms and holding him close to his chest, “We'll have a part of our own, we don't need the Ice Queen.”

“Mmh,” Celes actually whines, pressing his face against Langley's neck, “I don't wanna have a party.”

“No?” Langley handles him so tenderly and carefully, always making sure he's not touching any spot of his body that makes him uncomfortable. Celes knows he loves his boobs, for example, he loves that they're so small he can fit them entirely in his hands, and he loves that they're almost completely flat, which makes his nipples stand out twice as much, but still, he never dares touching them, not even by accident, and that says a lot of how much he respects his feelings during this transition, and how much of a good, caring person he is. “Are you sad, baby?”

“Mmhnyes,” he mutters against his skin.

Langley chuckles as Celes' eyelashes tickle his neck. “Aw, my baby. Poor baby,” he cradles him, “Why are you sad? Because I'm leaving?”

“No.”

“That was harsh...”

“No, I mean,” Celes whines, “Not just that.”

Langley backs off again and forces him gently to do the same, holding his face in his hands and searching for his eyes. He's smiling, and he's beautiful, and Celes loves him and would love him even if he wasn't drunk. “Care to elaborate?”

“It's just...” he says, “The passing of time.”

Langley smiles. “The most natural of things.”

“Yes, but natural things aren't always good. I was born a girl.”

“But your nature was of a boy,” Langley smiles again, patiently, “And you were provided the tools to shape yourself into what you really were. Nature can make mistakes, but it's good at self-correct.”

“Yeah, but you can't correct the passing of time,” Celes insists, stubbornly. He finds himself pouting, and it's a ridiculous thing, but also an inevitable thing, because he's a child whining about things he has no power to change, and pouting is what children do in these situations. 

Langley can't help but laugh, kissing his pout as he cups his face in his own hands. “That is true. What bothers you so much about the passing of time?”

“That as time passes things change. And you have to leave, but that's only part of the problem.” He looks down, biting at his bottom lip. Is he being a fool for complaining about this? Is he showing immaturity? Is he really ready for the path time is supposed to lead him through? “I've... I've been here two years and things are already so different. I'm changing, we're together, there's three of us... and now you're going away and...”

Langley's smile softens up, and the hold of his fingers around his face becomes more tender, more caring. “And...?”

“...and in a matter of a few more years I'll be out of here too, and I'll become... what I'm supposed to become. And things will change again.”

“And that's what really scares you, right?” Langley asks. There's such an understanding undertone in his voice. Shannen and him are so very different – as much as Shannen's thick, Langley's mellow, as much as Shannen's hard, Langley's soft. The easier things are to understand for Langley, the harder they are for Shannen. They're at such odds with each other, and yet they work so well combined. Because Celes always knows that when he needs hard support, able to sustain him, he can turn to Shannen, and when he needs something warm and soft to simply welcome him and his problems without necessarily searching for an active solution, Langley will always be there to comply.

He nods, looking down in embarrassment. “You don't know how it is,” he says, “I've had to study that all my life. When you're born a female in my family that's just your destiny, there's no questioning that.”

“And do you want a chance to question it? Don't you feel the calling?”

“I do!” Celes instantly looks up, underlining with the fire in his eyes the fire in his voice, “I feel it. I know I'm a Seer. No matter my gender, that's what I am.”

“But is it what you want?”

“It's not a thing to want or not,” he shakes his head, “It's something you are or aren't. There's no changing that. And I'm okay with it, I just wish I could...” he bites his bottom lip, ashamed at himself for thinking it, “I could change at least a few of those things. That the rules shouldn't have to be so damn... strict.”

“Well,” Langley chuckles, “Your mother never cared for the rules. She always ignored them and went on to be one of the greatest Seers that have ever lived.”

“No, but I am not my mother,” he hakes his head again, “That's not what I wanna do. Parade through the lands wrapped up in pink tulle just expecting things to go well even if I do everything in my power to mess them up. That's not me. I wanna change things, but the right way. Following the rules.”

“Mh-hm,” Langley nods, settling better against the wall, offering him himself as a seat – an offer Celes instantly accepts, because the floor is hard and cold and he needs soft and warm instead. “What's the problem, then?”

Celes sighs deeply. Sometimes he himself doesn't know. And his mind is so cloudy, right now. And yet, he feels so free to just talk. “Commitment, I guess.”

“That scares everybody.”

“Becoming a Seer is like getting married,” he goes on, “They even give you a ring, you know?”

“Really? That's nice.”

“That's heavy,” he insists, “The High Priest takes you to the altar and uses your crystal to cast a magic spell over this ancient ring passed down from Seer to Seer since the beginning of time. When I wear that ring, it will be the same ring my mother has worn, and her mother, and her mother before, and all their mothers as far back as Seers go. Every time a new Seer wears it, the magic in it changes. The stone holds a trace of all past spells, and welcomes your own too. You become part of the line by something even deeper than blood. Your magic is in the ring and the magic of the ring is in you, and it's something...” he feels breathless at the mere thought. No, not breathless. Suffocated. Maybe both. “It's big. It's bigger than you. And you have to confront yourself with it every single day of your life for as long as you're the Seer in charge.”

Langley can't help but whistle lightly, tilting his head. “Okay, I admit that sounds particularly heavy.”

“I want it, but I'm scared about it. I don't know if I'm ready for it. Will I ever be ready for it?”

“How do you know if your mother was ready for it?”

“I don't and it doesn't matter because mother...” he sighs, “She's a different thing. She can weather things she's not ready for. I don't know if I can.”

Langley smiles again, with the patience of a martyr saint. He's one of the most positive people Celes has ever met. There's almost nothing he can't face without a smile on his lips – the only thing that really knocks him down is when he needs a little drink of blood more intensely than he can control. For all the rest, he presents a smiling solution that's so easy and effortless you could think he was born smiling, that he's worn a smile since he came into existence like a second skin.

“You know,” he says, “Not all commitments must be heavy burdens. In fact, no commitment is unless you want it to.” 

“Don't make things simple when they're not...” Celes whines, resting his forehead against the curve of Langley's shoulder, “I'm drunk, I could end up believing you.”

“You better, because I'm telling the truth,” Langley chuckles. Celes feels him stretch towards the nearby nightstand and open the first drawer. He rummages inside a few seconds and then his hand emerges from it holding something colorful but opaque, and he doesn't understand what it is until he backs off a little and focuses on it: a little red plastic ring, with the empty outline of a heart glued at the top. 

“What is it?” he asks, blinking.

“A ring, quite obviously.”

“But it looks like a toy.”

“It's both,” Langley smiles nonchalantly. “Where will your mother's ring go?” Celes raises his right hand, showing him the middle finger. Langley laughs and holds it. “Very well,” he says, and puts the plastic jewel on his right ring finger, “Ha. Done.”

Celes looks at him in disbelief for a couple seconds, and then he bumps him on the head. “You're so stupid,” he slurs, “What is _done_? You just got me a toy. This doesn't solve anything.”

“You're right,” Langley chuckles, massaging his own head, “But it shows something. For example, that a ring is not a heavy thing per se. Look at this, have you ever worn anything lighter?”

“...no, but what--”

“Second,” Langley counts on his fingers, “A commitment doesn't have to be heavy either. See this? I gave you a ring. That's what happens between spouses. But do you feel any heavier than before?”

“...no, I don't,” Celes has to admit.

“You wanna know why? Because nothing really changed between us. What was this ring if not a simple gift? It doesn't mean anything more, to you and I, than what we already are. And it will be the same when you receive your mother's ring: it won't turn you into anything that you aren't already.” He leans in, pressing his forehead against Celes, speaking directly on his lips. “You _are_ a Seer, my precious. You're already part of the line, and certainly not by mere blood. You can't be any more of a Seer than you already are, so believe me, the ceremony, the ring, the formality, it won't change a thing for you. You're already you, and you will keep being you, because you're perfect. And...” he places the softest kiss on his bottom lip, and then the softest bite, “I can assure you, in one thing, at least, you are just like your mother: there's nothing you can't weather, even when you're not ready for it.”

Celes whimpers a little, clutching his hands in fists. He feels the smooth surface of the ring warm up to his skin already, and the tiny heart on top of it lightly presses against his flesh, leaving the faintest trace. It's something small and inconsequential, but it has a weight. It's just extremely light on his heart.

Perhaps, he dares to hope, the weight of his responsibilities as a Seer will be light on his heart too. And as he thinks it, his soul is graced with a moment of peace, and he can unfurl, all his muscles relax, he takes a deep breath and he releases without fearing his heart will break for it.

But then he opens his eyes, and he's still alone in his bedroom. He can see nothing but the ceiling, because the vision left his spent and frozen on his back, and he can feel the salty bite of the tears running down his cheeks.

And he's still wearing Langley's plastic heart-shaped ring. But he feels lonely, betrayed and abandoned, and the weight of his choices, and the weight of what he knows, are physical things, anchoring him to the ground. And the ring is the only light thing left on him.


End file.
